Somewhere Down This Road
by Championship Vinyl
Summary: It's 1940, and 33-year-old Dimitri shocks everyone by deciding to join the war. How will everyone take it, and who will he meet? This one's been an idea of mine for a long time. PLEASE R&R!
1. My Only Hope

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**(Disclaimer: I don't own Anastasia.) Okay, before you read this, there are a few things I should get out of the way.**

**Number One: Yes, it is the spring of 1940. Anya is 31, almost 32. Dimitri is 33, almost 34. Their daughter, Tasha, is their only child right now, and she just turned 3. I know that means they waited an awfully long time after the movie to have a kid, but I never understood people's rush. Would YOU want a kid when YOU'RE 18 and 20? You'd still be in college! **

**Number Two: The chapter refers to travels. I figured they'd spend those kid-less years seeing the world.**

**Number Three: I own Tasha. I realize that I may not be the first to name their daughter that, since that was the name of the ship, but if you used it first, I'm sorry. It's a common idea. Don't sue me.**

**Number Four: In this chapter, Anya reads in the paper that the army is drafting men for WWII, and goes to her grandmother to beg the Dowager to intervene so that it won't affect Dimitri. That basic plot may have been unclear.**

**And Finally, Five: Just so you know, I have no clue how the draft really worked.**

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It had been the last snow of the season. Maybe not in Ireland, or Belgium, or any of the other places she'd been, but in Paris, the place she still considered her true home. The weather here was climbing the thermostat day by day, even as the grey layers of one last flurry melted in the tepid rays of March.

She heard the crunch of the surrendering flakes under her feet as she walked the familiar route, but she barely registered it. Her mind was elsewhere.

The morning paper. The call to action. It had been a headline that had cracked the bubble of the perfect life she'd been living, and now there was only one thing she could do to keep it from shattering all around her.

Marie. She had to see Marie.

The little hand that was wrapped around hers suddenly tightened its grip, as the little shoe that belonged to it met a puddle.

"Oh! Be careful, sweetie. It's slippery out here."

She had arranged this on the pretense of dropping the little girl off, but she had a feeling Marie knew this wasn't just a social call. No, this was a duty visit.

She was surprised when the door swung open and Marie herself stood on the other side. Never in eighty-four years had her grandmother opened her own door.

"Anastasia! Oh, and my sweet Tasha. Come in, girls, come in!"

"Great-Gramama!" The little girl flew into the old woman's arms, and with some effort Marie picked her up.

The three of them filed into the sitting room, and Marie sat, perching young Tasha on her lap. Anya couldn't sit. She was too nervous.

"I rided a bike, Great-Gramama!"

"You did? My, you are becoming such a big girl."

Pacing back and forth over the carpet, wringing her hands, Anya decided she couldn't wait anymore. "Grandmama...."

Marie tore her attention from the bubbly child in front of her. "Yes, my dear?"

"I...I have to talk to you about...something."

"Yes?"

"Well...." Anya spoke more quietly this time, careful to choose the right words. She didn't want Tasha to know. "You've...you've read the paper this morning?"

"Of course, my dear. Sophie brings it daily."

So she had seen it, then. The problem was on the front page. Anya took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "Dimitri," she said, and something in her voice was urgent.

"Papa!" the little girl shreiked, extremely proud of herself for identifying the name.

"Yes, that's right, Tasha. Very good! Why don't you run along into the study and see if you can find a little something Great-Grandmama has for you, hm?" Marie suggested, and the little girl toddled at top speed from the room.

"Ah," Marie said, drawing her focus back into the conversation. "Go on."

"So, you've read it, then...."

"I have. Men eighteen through forty."

"I...." Anya struggled to find a way to keep talking. "He's thirty-three."

"I know this," Marie said soothingly.

"When that draft letter comes....He'll have to leave us. He'll have to go to war. I came to you because I thought....Well, I don't even _know_ what I thought, I just...." She stopped pacing, and looked into her grandmother's eyes. "_Please_, Grandmama. You have to do something. I can't...." The sentence faded out.

"I know, my dear. And you won't have to. He won't recieve the letter."

"What?"

Marie simply reached down and pulled an envelope from the floor next to her chair. She handed it to Anya, and Anya opened it as if it contained the meaning of life.

"That is the carbon copy. The real letter has already been sent," Marie explained, while Anya read the letter voraciously. A weight was lifting off her shoulders.

"This is a letter from the Dowager Empress to the head of the Allied army!" she realized.

"I may have said it before, my dear, but there was a time when I thought I would never see you again. Now, with this sweet little child...." she said, referring to Tasha, and trailed off. She regained her focus. "Not since my Nicholas has there been as good a man as Dimitri. I would never dream of simply watching as my grandson-in-law---no, my _grandson_---is separated from the two people he loves most in the world. I have lived with terrible losses in my long life, my child, and I'd take my last breath before I'd put you through the same. It is taken care of. The letter will not come."

Anya threw her arms around the old woman, who only smiled. "Thank you, Grandmama," was all she could say.

"Mama! Look what Great-Gramama got me!" Tasha ran back into the sitting room, holding a chocolate Easter bunny in both hands.

"Aw, that's so nice, baby," Anya cooed, finally relaxed. "Did you say thank you?"

"Thankoo, Great-Gramama!"

"You're welcome, darling," Marie laughed. "To both of you."

"Come say 'bye to Mama, Tasha." Anya bent down and the little girl ran into her arms. "Be good, okay?"

"I'm a _angel_, Mama."

Anya laughed. "Oh yeah? Who told you that?"

"Daddy."

Anya smiled, and rolled her eyes. He'd buy that girl a castle if he had the chance.

She gave her daughter and pat on the back and she ran back to Marie, and Anya heard "Teach me the lullaby again!" as she shut the door behind her.

The smile wouldn't leave her face the whole way home. Everything would stay exactly how it was. Nothing was going to happen to anyone. Everything, she was sure, would be all right.


	2. Picking Your Battles

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**Now, a switch to Dimitri's POV (mostly). He's getting ready to tell her, and this sets the tone for the next step of the piece. Let me know what you think!**

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He'd been everywhere. He'd seen everything. He'd lived through experiences that people twice his age could only imagine. But _this_, he didn't know how to do.

The idea had come to him in the form of a headline. The decision had taken him all morning. He wasn't political, or particularly patriotic, and he'd never had any desire to bear arms on a border somewhere, but the feeling that he _just had_ to do this had grabbed him and wouldn't let him go.

It even surprised himself, to a degree. _Great plan, genius._

Dimitri walked up to the newly installed front gate of the townhouse his young family shared. He kept going over and over a sentence in his head, making adjustments here and there. _Anya, I'm going to enlist in the service. Anya, I'm enlisting in the army. I'm going to fight in the army. I'm going to war. I'm going on a business trip for a couple months, see you when I get back._

He sighed. The idea of going didn't bother him, but telling Anya, well, he was just not prepared to do.

And he wouldn't _get_ to be. Just as he unlatched the black wrought-iron gate and swung it open, Anya walked right into him, too preoccupied to pay attention to where she was going.

"Oh! Sorry. Hi."

"Hey." He was stunned to see her back from her grandmother's so early. Usually, you visit Marie, you clear your schedule and bring canned goods, 'cause you're not getting out any time soon.

"How's Vlad? I haven't seen him since last week."

Right. Dimitri'd forgotten where he'd just been. "He's great. Told me to say hi to you and T for him. Demanded, in fact." _Tell her, just tell her NOW._

"Listen." Anya went on, and Dimitri used that as an excuse not to say anything. "Grandmama's got Tash, so I was thinking we could go into town tonight and get something to eat from that new place. What do you think?"

"Yeah, sounds great." _Say it, come on already...._ "Anya..."

"Hey," she whispered. "Hang on a second, okay?" She draped her arms over his shoulders, came forward, and kissed him as if she hadn't seen him in weeks. If only she knew.

_Oh, my God. You are really not making this any easier._

"I can't tell you how much I needed that today," she said when she pulled back. "Now. You were saying?"

_What WAS I saying? How big of an idiot AM I?_

He took a deep breath. "Anya, I...I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure. What is it?" she asked geniunely. She had always understood his problems. Until now, maybe.

"Can we...?" He gestured toward the house, and turned and started up the sidewalk. Like her, he had a problem staying still when he was nervous.

Anya followed. "Dimitri? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine." He kept going until they were both inside and Anya had shut the door. He sat on the couch and patted the seat next to him, meaning for Anya to take it, but at the gesture, a greyer-than-ever Pooka appeared from nowhere and bounded onto the seat.

"Not you!" Pooka hopped off. _That dog is like a hundred and five years old. Shouldn't he not be able to jump on furniture anymore?_

Anya sat down next to Dimitri. "What is it?" she said, looking straight into his eyes like she always did.

God. He missed her already.

"Anya...." _That's the third time you've said that. Add new words. _He finally cornered the last of the coward in him, and shoved it out for good. It had been dissipating for a long time, and he wanted it gone.

"You saw what was in the paper this morning, right?"

A panic started in her eyes. _No, no, don't go back to that again._ "Yes..."

"Anya." He picked up her hand. He'd never crushed her before, and wanted to be ready to put her right back together. "I'm enlisting tomorrow."

"What?" Instantly she stood up, pulling her hand from his. Her voice, wasn't commanding, it was begging. "No!" She was in panic mode already, and when the tears came to her eyes, she couldn't stop them.

He had never caused this before. It was enough to make him want to forget the whole thing. But he knew he couldn't do that. Within the second he was on his feet. "Anya, Anya, listen to me. I _have_ to. I _have_ to go."

"No! No, you don't! Do you know why I really went where I went today? I just begged your immunity to my grandmother! The draft won't affect you!"

"Good! I have to do this on my own." He put his hands on her shoulders. "I can't explain this. I don't even know if _I_ understand it yet. But I have to do this. I mean, look at you, look at Tasha. How can I _not_ go?"

"How _can _you?" she cried. "You don't have to prove anything, not to anyone else, and not to me."

"No, but maybe I have to prove it to myself."

"So you're leaving us? How am I supposed to keep this up without you? How is that little girl supposed to go without her daddy?"

"Anya, it's not permanent."

Anya couldn't say anything to that, and she turned her back to him.

"Anya? I _am_ coming back."

She turned again. "How do you know what's gonna happen out there?" she whispered.

"What makes you so sure I'm not coming back?"

She said nothing for a moment. "What makes you so sure you _are_? That's what happens in a war." She stopped to take in another shaky breath. "Don't you think I _saw_ it?" Another pause, each one longer than the last. "You don't have to be my father."

"No," he agreed quietly, "but I do have to do what's right. I'm not doing this to hurt you, Anya, you have to believe that. But I have to go. You just have to trust me. I have to go."

Neither of them spoke for a long moment after that, and Dimitri wrapped his arms around Anya and held her close.

"I've always trusted you," she said finally. "I don't _agree_ with you, but I understand."

He laughed, just a little. "Since when is _that_ new?"

"See? Look at what this is already doing to us. We've never fought like that."

"What planet are _you_ on? We fight _constantly_."

"Yeah, but that's over pointless stuff. We never _fight_; we _bicker_."

"Ah."

Anya looked up at him. "If I ever lost you, Dimitri..."

"You won't," he said, cutting her off.

"But if I ever..."

"You _won't_. You, will, not, _ever_, lose me. I am _always_ coming back. Always."

She held on to him as if he were her last anchor to earth, and hoped with all her might that that was true.

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**(Here we go...) :-)**

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	3. A Whole New World

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**Get ready! Now the war part really starts. There's a spot in this chapter where Dimitri's full name is used: notice how I manage to avoid getting to his last name. For me, it's easy to assume what his middle name is, because all you have to do is assume what his father's name was and add a "vich." But making up a last name from thin air is too permanent, and it would be ALL of their last names. After a lot of guessing, I decided to go with, "If you don't know it, don't show it." Enjoy the chapter.**

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The walk was quiet, which was unusual, but it was what both of them wanted. Talking was for later.

First came the smell of the ocean. Then the trees fell away, until finally the shore loomed up ahead of them. Both of them stopped where the grass turned to sand.

Now was the hard part.

Little Tasha was at home, still asleep, under the watchful care of Vlad, whose last words to Dimitri had surprisingly been, "You are my son. Never forget that." Dimitri had explained everything to Tasha the night before. Now, though, was the one part he'd been dreading most.

Anya looked at him, trying to ignore the ominous-looking ship in the background.

"Hey," he said quietly, and put his arms around her. He'd always known what she needed. "Don't get upset on me, now. That's not what I'm trying to do, I want you to know that."

"I'm not mad at you. I'm terrified," she said.

"Don't be."

"I am."

"What did I _just_ say?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Anya pulled back from him a little, and looked directly into his eyes. She didn't say anything for a second. Then she did. "You come back, Dimitri. You understand me? _Come back_. I don't want a letter, I don't want your name in the paper, I don't want you to be the hero. Not if that's what it takes. I want _you_." She paused to let her words sink in. "All right?"

He smiled at her, slightly, but it didn't last. "Stop acting like you're saying goodbye."

"Dimitri. Just promise me."

He smiled, and this time it held. "Of course, your grace." With that, he kissed her, and her arms tightened around him, as the entire world narrowed down to two.

After the longest moment in the universe, a loud, breathy whistle sounded from the dock, ending their private reverie. Slowly, they pulled apart, and all Anya could say was, "I love you."

"That's _my_ line," he grinned. The whistle screamed again, and after one last moment, Dimitri headed for the shoreline.

"Hey!"

He turned, just halfway, and looked back over his shoulder. Any farther and he ran the risk of giving up on this all together.

Anya was standing where he'd left her, waving with one hand and holding up her beloved pendant with the other. The sunlight of the morning caught it and played off of the tiny gold surface.

Dimitri didn't have to come closer to know what she was saying. He'd read the inscription before.

_Together in Paris_.

He smiled and gave her a wink, and even in her emotional state she still managed to roll her eyes. Dimitri took one last look, turned to the sea, and headed down into the commotion.

The crowd was full of men of all different ages, being herded one way or another. He tried to make heads or tails of the setup, and finally got into a line.

When he made it to the front, a grey-bearded decorated officer sat at the fold-out table and slammed a stamp onto a stack of papers, over and over. He didn't look up. "Name?"

"Dimitri Sergeievich---"

"Oh!" The officer didn't let him finish. _Now_ he looked up. "You, you've got orders to meet the Admiral on deck. Sign this and go on up."

To say he was confused would have been an understatement. Still, Dimitri scrawled his name onto the roster and headed onto and over the gangplank.

On the upper deck, leaning against a railing and sporting more medals than the Hall Of Fame, there stood a tall man in a dark suit and cap, looking in his direction. No one else was around. Dimitri figured this was the guy, and went up the steps.

He gave a quick salute, and said only, "Sir?"

"Comerade. Good of you to join us." The man returned the salute, then shook Dimitri's hand. "I'm Admiral Collins."

"Right, uh, I'm---"

"I know who you are."

Of course he did. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dimitri guessed why. The Romanov women had gotten thier way one way or another. Marie would not be denied.

"I though we should discuss the current arrangement. Obviously this is quite a delicate situation."

Dimitri was at a loss for what to say. He decided _nothing_ was his best option, at least until is was clear what this guy had meant.

Collins went on. "No one else in this army knows of your connection with the royal family. The only two people who know who you really are, are you, and me."

Silence. He'd been right again.

"It's vital that it's _kept _that way, you understand."

Dimitri did understand, and he agreed. The point of the conversation finally hit him, and the term _prisoner of war_ suddenly ran across his mind. "I understand, sir."

"Good. Good." Collins extracted a piece of paper from the lining of his suit and scanned the contents. "Now. Age, thirty-three, caucasian, lineage, Russian, is that correct?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well. One less form to fill out. You'll be staying in my quarters until we dock, right through there. You'll find your standard uniform on the desk."

"What about you?"

Collins laughed. "I don't deploy, soldier. Not this month." He turned the paper over and continued reading. "Given the circumstances, the board and I have come to the conclusion that this should be as clear-cut as possible, for the safety of everyone involved. We've assigned you to an abbreviated term of service. The minimum is six months. You are enlisted for two."

That was just as well for Dimitri. Longer might have proven to be unbearable---the goal was getting home in one piece.

"Any problem with that, comerade?"

"No sir."

"Moving on. You are to wake at the five-'o'-clock bell, curfew is at nine. You are to reveal to _no one_ the identities of your wife, daughter, etcetera. You will be present for the entire two months of your service, and if at all possible you will be placed on a non-combat batallion."

"A _non-combat batallion_?" Dimitri couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "You're _kidding_ me. Admiral, I'm not here to be part of some assembly line. I'm here for the same reason as anyone else." He was surprised by the tone of maturity in his voice, and almost didn't recognize it. "You can hide me away in a corner if you want, but that will defeat the purpose of my being here at all. Keeping me from action won't protect my family. Putting me into it will." Dimitri stopped, and stared the Admiral right in the eye. "I can _do_ this. All I'm asking is half a chance."

Collins was quiet for a never-ending minute. He faced the horizon, arms crossed, and looked at Dimitri from the corner of his eye. "You're really serious about this."

"More than you know, sir."

Collins sighed. "I'm taking a huge risk doing this, you know. There'll be a field day on the board."

Dimitri waited, beginning to hope for the right answer.

"I'm putting you on field patrol. Moderate possibility of combat. You'll be with the Twenty-First Regiment."

"_Thank_ you, sir."

"When we dock, you'll stay with them in the barracks. They're all Russians, save for Bagwell, who came over from West Bromwich about three years ago." He paused. "It's a pretty close-knit regiment," he warned. "They're all on long-term enlistment."

"I think I can handle it."

"It'll be my hide if there's any trouble," Collins said, and offered his hand again.

Dimitri shook it. "Well, then I guess I can't let you down, can I, Admiral?"

Collins just shook his head, chuckling to himself as he descended the gangplank and disappeared into the crowd below.


	4. Welcome To The Jungle

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**Here's where we meet the boys. :-) Enjoy!**

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The identical, grey, rectangular buildings passed him by in a slow-moving blur of steel and brick. Dimitri adjusted the stiff collar of his new uniform and continued looking for barrack fourteen. _Six, eight, ten_....

The ship, he'd found out later, after some asking around, had deposited the recruits on the coast of Middelburg, in the Netherlands. They were closer to Germany than most of them cared to be.

_Fourteen_. Dimitri approached the building, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

"Well, blimey, men! No one told _me_ we 'ad another bloke sent up!" was the first thing he heard upon entry. The voice was decidedly British, and was followed by a loose streak of laughter. Dimitri guessed this was Bagwell.

"Aw, go back to your tea and crumpets, ya monarchist." More laughter.

"Daft twit."

"Easy, Limey. Save it for the Browncoats." The second voice in the banter session belonged to a man in the center of the room. He was thin, and about Dimitri's height, with one foot up on the table. The flecks of grey in his thin moustache and short, tousled black hair made him look to be about forty. He turned his attention from Bagwell to Dimitri, abandoning the table and offering a hand. "Solodov, Mikhail Alexandrovich. General."

He shook it, noticing the two medals already on the man's uniform. "Dimitri."

"Dimitri, eh? So there's another Russian among us. They promise us benefits after that blasted revolution, and yet they send us to France to fight---how's _that_ for the Motherland? Anyway. Don't bother with any of that 'sir' business around me; makes me feel like my fourth-term professor. Call me Mikhail." Mikhail pointed to each of the men around the room. "That's our resident Brit, Percy Bagwell, never his first name, always Limey, or you'll regret it. Trust me, comerade, the jokes aren't worth it," Mikhail advised, and moved on. "That's Peter Belikov, Andre 'Bullet' Kravnova---he loads a weapon almost as fast as he runs away---Jurek Udovin---raised in Finland, we call him Fin---and Yuri Kulik, the straightest shot in the company."

_Mikhail, Limey, Peter, Bullet, Fin, Yuri._ "I think I got it."

"Good. You're one step closer to _understanding_ this nut house. No worries, we're quite an accepting democracy, but of course you'll never _truly_ be one of us 'till your blood's on the field and your liquor's on the table." Mikhail pointed to the only two empty bunks in the eight-bunk room; one in the back corner, and one near the center, both on the bottom. "Take your pick."

Dimitri dropped his stuff onto the one toward the center, if only because it was the closest. He sat down on the edge of the bunk, already tired, and somehow it was harder than he'd expected.

"Where ya from, Hotshot?" Mikhail asked.

_Okay, I guess he's talking to me_. "I was raised in St. Petersburg."

"Ah." Mikhail shut his eyes as if re-living some priceless experience. "Sankt-Peterbourg, The Tsar's Capital. No place like it in the world."

"It's a dump now," Peter interjected.

"Oh, but my fatally flawed friend, the same could be said about you." That got a chuckle from the group. "No, she's got her problems, but the best places, like the best people, often do. That's what makes them interesting."

Dimitri couldn't help but be drawn in by Mikhail's easy nature. He was curious. "What about you? Where're you from?"

"I _wish_ I could say a gem like St. Petesburg. I come from Belgorod, slightly east of the middle of nowhere." Mikhail climbed onto his bunk---he had a top one, naturally---and rolled over. "It's almost curfew, boys, so in the nature of moving this along, fill the boy in, would you?"

"I'm from Odessa," Yuri volunteered helpfully.

Peter and Bullet both followed Mikhail's lead and got into their bunks.

"Moscow."

"Lodz."

Limey was about to open his mouth, but Dimitri beat him to it. "West Bromwich, right?" he said with a grin.

"I don't even want to know how you bloody knew that," Limey muttered, crawling into his bunk.

Suddenly the lights slammed out, and darkness overtook the cabin. Dimitri assumed the power had gone out or something, and was about to speak up, when Mikhail's voice reached him from out of the black air.

"It's nine. The electricity's on a timer," he explained.

"Ah." And all the voices in the room fell silent.

Dimitri managed to make it into his bunk without bashing his head on anything, which he considered a win in the dark, unfamiliar surroundings.

All around him was as quiet as anything he'd ever heard. Or _not_ heard. He lay there, hands folded behind his head, staring at the back of the bunk above him. This was so different from everything he'd been used to for so long. For starters, there was a notable abscence to his left.

And then it all came back to him. Everything about home, all the things he'd been trying so hard to ignore. He couldn't help it---there was nothing else to preoccupy him.

Dimitri reached into the pocket on the front of his shirt and felt the thin edge of paper, just to double-check that it was still there. He didn't _mean_ to pull it out, focused on it in the dull moonlight---it just _happened_.

Anya didn't know he'd taken it. Or at least, she didn't when he left.

It was a photograph, one that usually lived in the bottom of a drawer, under his shirts. Technically, Anya wasn't even supposed to know he _had_ it, but she'd caught him last year. Its was pressed flat, in perfect condition, as if the day it had been taken was playing out in front of him.

In black and white, Anya sat in the big chair in Sophie's sitting room. A radiant smile was spread across her face, and her arms were around their daughter from behind, who was sitting on Anya's lap. Tasha had been two, and Anya had just turned thirty.

He'd snuck the photo into his suitcase for one basic reason.

His girls had never looked so beautiful.

"Hey! Whatcha up to?"

"Jeez!" Dimitri sat up with a start and whacked his head on the top bunk. So much for the lucky streak.

Fin had been asleep above him---or so he thought---and now his head had appeared upside-down at his side. "Thought I'd drop in," he laughed. "You're certainly jumpy."

Dimitri stuck the picture back into his pocket. "I don't usually get woken up by floating heads," he countered.

"Funny. Didn't _look_ asleep." Fin pointed at the photograph. "Who was that?"

"Nobody."

"Yes it was."

"Must be mistaken."

"The Great Fin is never mistaken."

"Well then get a career evaluation, 'cause you're wrong."

Mikhail's voice spoke up from the opposite wall. "Boys, don't make me come back there."

Fin retreated to bed, and, with a relieved sigh, Dimitri, too, tried to get some sleep.


	5. In Or Out?

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**This one is really more about becoming familiar with the men than Dimitri. It alludes to the end of the last chapter (meaning Peter was awake too), and it gives these guys a little background. It also shows how Dimitri's adjusting to the routine, and maybe even beating some of the others....Let the games begin....:-)**

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"Rise and shine, men! Breakfast, the best meal of the day. Get it while it's room-temperature gruel."

A groan rose up from Yuri's bunk. "Only _you_ would be up before the bell, Mikhail."

"Mikhail Alexandrovich waits for no alarm, just as his father never waited on the sun. The Solodovs are early risers!" Mikhail rested a foot on the edge of Dimitri's bunk. "Unlike our friend St. Petersburg here."

"I'm up, I'm up." He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, just as the trumpet sounded outside.

As soon as inspections were over, men from all the barracks streamed into the mess hall, met by the smell of oats and overcooked meat. Among the rows of cafeteria tables, there had been placed labels that corresponded with the cabin numbers, and the men of Dimitri's regiment sat around number fourteen.

"You'll enjoy this, comerade---finest cuisine in the Allied forces," Mikhail boomed.

"If you like slops and cardboard," Bullet muttered, working to stir his oatmeal into an edible consistency.

Mikhail tore his bread in half and dropped part back on the plate. "Glass half full, Bullet old boy, glass half full."

Peter leaned in from his seat at the edge of the table. "Where're we assigned today, Mikhail?"

He pulled a sheet from his pocket and squinted at the writing. "Armory Training," he announced, letting the page drop onto his plate. "Our new recruit here has yet to pass, and we're all past our exam expirations."

"Great," Yuri sighed, scraping his bowl. "Something I know how to do already."

"Technicality. Just one last hoop to jump through, and we'll be back out there on the field scaring the daylights out of stormtroopers." Mikhaail dusted the crumbs from his hands and turned to Dimitri. "You had any battle experience?"

"No, not yet," Dimitri answered. "I'm a fast learner."

"Excellent. You'll have to learn fast, think fast, eat fast for breakfast."

"Instead of _this_," Fin piped up, watching gruel run from his spoon as the others laughed.

Limey slid back his chair then, and stood up from the table. "Well, you blokes gonna sit here all bloody day? Let's get on with it."

"You heard Limey, men. Clear out," Mikhail said, following.

Dimitri got up and trailed behind the others through the room. If there was one thing he'd noticed since he got there, it was that Mikhail was the unequivocal leader; whether intentionally or by choice, he didn't know.

On the walk across the grounds to the armory, Peter slowed his pace and fell back in line, appearing at Dimitri's side. "They take some getting used to, but they're good guys," he said.

"I don't doubt it," Dimitri replied.

Peter lowered his voice a bit. "See, _I_ was the new recruit _last_ year," he explained. "Now _these_ guys, they've been here as a regiment for the last five to ten."

"_Years_?" He didn't see how anyone could do that.

"Years," Peter insisted. "And Mikhail...he keeps us in line, you know? There's nobody who loves the fight like he does. All he's ever known is war. No one here is on _half_ his level."

"Wow." Dimitri was impressed by Mikhail and felt sorry for him at the same time. He kept listening.

"Now Limey...he could've just as easily joined up on the British side of things, but he came here because his grandmother lives in Paris. And Andre---Bullet---has been Mikhail's go-to since day one." Peter stopped a moment to make sure none of his little speech had been overheard. "You couldn't ask for a better regiment," he concluded. "They just...take some getting used to." After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Especially Fin."

"Yeah?" Dimitri was cautious, wondering just how much Peter knew.

"Yeah." Peter reached into the shirt pocket of his uniform then, and pulled a small, rectangular object from the pocket. He held it up for Dimitri to see, and gave him a look that seemed to convey humor and understanding at the same time.

The object was a black-and-white photograph, of a pretty, late-twentysomething girl with short, pale ringlets and bright eyes.

Peter tucked it safely back into his pocket. "Out there is a different place, maybe, but here, everyone's exactly the same," he mused, "whether or not they know it yet." He walked through the door Dimitri held open. A smile crossed Peter's face, and he added, "We're having a boy in June."

"Congratulations," Dimitri told him, and he meant it, pulling the door to the armory shut behind him.

"This is the all the Twenty-First?" boomed a voice at the front of the cavernous room.

"Yes, sir."

The man didn't seem to have needed an answer. "You will retrieve your weapon from the south wall. You will dismantle your weapon as quickly as possible. You will reload your weapon as quickly as possible. You will repeat this process as many times as is neccesary to finish above regulations. By this you will pass your examination. If you do not, you do not patrol. Do I make myself clear, soldiers?"

"Yes, sir."

Before Dimitri knew it, each of the seven of them held a garish looking rifle, and without any noticeable warning, began the dismantling process.

Dimitri followed the others' lead. He was quick and sure at the task without even trying, and before very long, felt the supervisor standing over his shoulder.

He had no clue how much time had passed, but Mikhail, a few feet away, had been approved, and was finished already. The rest were still hard at work.

"Nice job, soldier," the supervisor was saying. "You pass."

"Really?"

"Don't question my authority."

_Uhh, o-kay then. _"Yes sir." Dimitri went over to where Mikhail was waiting. "Who _is_ that guy, anyway?" he asked.

"Just the tightest-wound stiff they could dig up this early. Notice how he loves being here." Mikhail's sarcasm was evident by the grin on his face. "So, second one passed, eh? I must say that's pretty impressive. No one's finished over Bullet in six years."

"Yeah, well." Dimitri tried to stop it, but he couldn't help himself; that old confidence had always been his friend. "I'm full of surprises."

And indeed, the following morning, when Mikhail woke before the bell as usual, one dark silhouette was already standing at the back wall, as wide awake as wide awake could be.

"Surprise," said the voice, and Dimitri walked off to the dining hall.


	6. Here It Goes, Here It Goes Again

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**A month-ish later. The action is underway.... Notice how familiar everyone is now---and---subplot---pay attention to Bullet. (???:-) Also, if you've read "Journey to a Different Past," the first part of this will remind you of the chapter "Here's looking at you, kid." That was on purpose (different, law-abiding crowd, but he still wins). Read it!**

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"Deal."

"No way, my friend. You've hit your limit."

"Hey---general says. Deal."

Dimitri obliged and handed Mikhail another card. The rest of the men stood around the table, watching in complete silence as the game fell into the final round. All, that is, except for Bullet, who sat slouched against the far wall.

In the month since Dimitri had showed up, he'd acheived every regulation, passed every exam, and executed every drill he'd been given. What was difficult, though, was getting Mikhail to agree to a friendly game of poker.

In the past, Dimitri'd always been on the confident, obviously-going-to-win end of the table, and to be honest, he really enjoyed the role reversal. "Well?" he prodded.

Mikhail turned over his cards. They were good---_very_ good. "I think that answers your question," he grinned.

Dimitri laughed to himself. He still loved this part. "It does," he agreed, laying his cards down, "but, as much as I would _love_ to witness it, you might wanna rethink your victory dance."

The men leaned in to get a good look. Dimitri had beaten Mikhail by just one card.

"God," Yuri laughed, "What has it been---four years?"

"Four years," Fin supplied.

"Four years since I've seen Mikhail lose."

"Don't get any ideas, Yuri," Mikhail warned. "I can still beat _you_."

Peter couldn't stop laughing. "So _how_? How? How?"

"In St. Petersburg? Are you kidding me? I learned to play when I was thirteen," Dimitri told them.

At that moment, there was a pounding on the door of the barrack, and the men all stifled laughter as Dimitri and Fin dove for the cards and shoved the evidence off the table. They had already forgotten what it was like to be a troop of six instead of seven. "Enter," Mikhail boomed in his deep 'general' voice.

The door swung open, and yet another tall, uniformed man stood in the frame. There was no shortage of those around here. He took exactly three steps into the room. "General Solodov?"

Mikhail finally settled on a straight face, and came forward. "Yes sir."

"You and your men have been moved to patrol. Get your equipment and report to Fort Gerald by fourteen-hundred."

There was no sound after that except for the echo of boots against floor, and the officer pulled the door shut behind him. Slowly, Mikhail turned back around---he didn't speak; simply had a knowing grin on his face.

The men knew that _patrol_ most likely meant _combat_. They stood around the room, waiting for an opinion from their leader; a speech, a hint; _anything_. Instead, what they got was Dimitri, the first to speak up, saying, "Well, you heard him. So as soon as the general here is done being paralyzed, let's get out there!" He marched for the door, turning back to the men just before he left. "Are you guys coming or not?"

Fin, always eager for adventure, was the first to break away and pass Dimitri through the door, a smile on his face. Then Yuri stepped forward, sending a grateful nod Dimitri's way before he, too, crossed the threshold. Next was Limey, then Peter, and finally Bullet, who stormed out, for some reason, in a huff.

Mikhail was the last to leave. Dimitri waited for him, tossing a glance from Mikhail to the door and back to Mikhail again.

"You know," Mikhail began quietly, smiling at a memory he almost couldn't keep. Dimitri had been his go-to for the past few weeks. He trusted him, as could most people---a trait that never used to be true. "I've been in some form of armed forces since I was nineteen?" Mikhail laughed softly to himself. "I turn forty-one in August. This is my last year---enlisment here ends at forty. This could be the last one. Any fight could be the last one."

Dimitri just looked at Mikhail for a second. "Then it better be a good one, huh? So make it worth it," he finally said. He held the door open a little farther. "The guys are waiting." After a moment, he added, "And we all know what it's like to keep Limey waiting."

"The Germans won't be our worry anymore," Mikhail chuckled, striding into the bright air. "Move it, recruit! We'll need our secret weapon out there."


	7. Loyalties Lie

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**This is their first real battle all together as a regiment. I don't want to give anything away, but let's just say Bullet does what he does on _purpose_. And yes, Fin is like a big nine-year-old. (He's actually based loosely off of Finn, Logan's friend, on Gilmore Girls. Which I don't own either.) Enjoy this---and let me know what you think!**

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"Anything?"

Peter scanned the horizon again. "Not a soul," he called from the tower.

So far, the watch had been uneventful. The men of the Twenty-First were surrounded by nothing but open field in every direction. Most of them stood around, waitng, except of course for Fin. He was turning cartwheels in the grass.

"Somebody get him a leash," Yuri muttered.

"Let him be," Mikhial sighed, "he's got the patience of a bug."

"He'll give himself a concussion."

Mikhail turned his head in Fin's direction. "Fin, enough acrobatics for one day," he shouted.

"You're just jealous that I got to eleven," Fin hollered back, and made a new game of tossing his hat into the wind and snatching it from midair, like a dog playing frisbee with himself. Mikhail just shook his head.

"So." Dimitri studied the area. "I'm guessing there's more to it than this?" he asked sarcastically.

"Supposed to be. Apparently this is a slow day."

"Uh, not for long, general!" As Peter's voice made its way to them from the tower, the panic in it was evident. "We've got company! Browncoats, north-northeast, headed our way!"

Mikhail was all business. "Any numbers?" he barked.

"Not many, maybe a dozen. Looks like a single regiment."

"Then we'll need every man we've got. Get down here."

Peter joined them as they loaded their weapons and sprinted for the attackers, and Mikhail was shouting, "Don't let them advance to the fort! Keep the scrimmage line north of the tower at all costs! I don't want to see a single man down, do you hear me? Yuri, Limey, you stay with me; Fin, you cover Peter; Bullet, stay on Dimitri. I want _no one_ left behind! Do _not_ let your guard down! Drive 'em home!"

The men broke off into their groups just as a single-file line of German soldiers became visible in the distance. There was a cracking sound in midair, then another, and before long the sky was choked with thick grey smoke and commotion.

Dimitri could never have been prepared for this, no matter how many stories he'd heard or drills he'd passed. Still, at the sound of the first order, something in his head had gone into focus mode, and he kept up with his regiment every step of the way.

He saw Peter and Fin disappear into the haze, realizing too late that they were headed right for the enemy.

_No one left behind._

Without even thinking, Dimitri turned and ran after them. It was only once he'd run for about a minute that he realized they must have escaped on their own, because he didn't see anyone in the area.

Still running, but back toward the battle now---after all, staying still wasn't an option---Dimitri risked a glance over his shoulder.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Bullet behind him. There was no one guarding him at all.

"Bullet!" he called. _Probably outran him back there somewhere._ "Bu---"

He was cut off by a sudden, searing pain that skimmed his right shoulder. The rifle he'd been holding dropped to the ground.

There was a loud crack directly behind him, and a threat he'd never seen fell silent beyond the smoke. Wincing in pain, Dimitri turned around, and Limey stepped forward.

"They're down by six and heading for the hills," he declared, handing Dimitri his rifle. He pointed to Dimitri's shoulder, and said with a smile, "You'll want to put pressure on that."

Dimitri returned the smile and clamped a hand over the tear in his sleeve. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, old boy. Seriously. Don't mention it." Limey headed off into the center of things, and Dimitri followed on his heels, just as the five remaining Germans retreated into the distance, and a victorious cheer rose up from the Twenty-First.


	8. One Man For Himself

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**So. That battle wasn't huge, obviously. Now you know Bullet has a problem with Dimitri---he feels like he's been replaced. As for Dimitri, he's okay---to quote John Cleese, "It's just a flesh wound." (Hurray, _Holy Grail_.) This chapter has a lot of tension, and a change is made in the regiment. The general makes a tough choice. ****(By the way: Mikhail's Russian translates to: "That is enough! Do you hear me? That is an order!" You'll know it when you see it.) **Read!

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The sun was low and the air clear at last by the time the men filed back into cabin fourteen. Yuri, Fin, Limey and Peter strolled through the door, trading congratulations like masters of the universe.

"I must say, bloke, that was one of your best. You 'ad the 'ole buggers on the run the second you aimed." Limey gave Yuri a slap on the back.

Yuri held his head high. "Three enemy units in as many minutes," he bragged. "Beat _that_."

"Imagine if we'd been up against a whole battallion!" Peter added.

Fin shook his head. "Calling in reinforcements is for losers."

Dimitri came in through the door at that moment, and the guys shifted their attention.

"Well, if it isn't the instant motivational speaker, just add water!" Fin noticed the blood on his shoulder. "Wow. Bet that's not pleseant."

Dimitri rolled his eyes. "Surprisingly not."

"So how's the first war wound?" Peter asked.

"Kinda like a rite of passage and a knife in the ribs at the same time."

"Yep. That describes it."

Right then the discussion was interrupted. The door banged open, and Bullet stumbled in, Mikhail's hand gripping the back of his collar. He threw Bullet against the wall.

"What in the name of God did you think you were doing out there?" Mikhail shouted. Bullet made no attempt to answer, just stared at Mikhail with narrowed eyes. The rest of the men watched in fixed silence. "You had _direct orders_ to cover one of your own men. _Your own men!_ Would you have done that to Peter? Or Fin? Would you have _abandoned them_? I told you to _stay on him_. One of your own was shot because of you; who's to say one of us couldn't have _died_ because of you?"

"Mikhail. Nobody did. It's not a big deal," Dimitri interjected calmly from the bunk.

That was the breaking point for Bullet, and he ended his stoic silence, springing from the wall at Dimitri. "_You_ keep out of it!" he yelled, fists flying. Yuri and Peter held him back.

Mikhail had had it. "Bullet!" He started to rip him away from the men. "Bullet! _Andre Ilyavich Kravnova! Stoi! Stoi! Toht eh-ta dahstatochna! Vwee slishaht menya? Toht eh-ta zakahs!_"

Mikhail finally managed to tear Bullet away and slammed him back against the wall, fuming. "I don't know _what's_ wrong with you, and now I don't care. Turning on your own men is unforgivable. You are a _coward_, no more a man than I am a deserter. I want you _out_ of this cabin, I want you _out _of this regiment. _Get out of my sight_."

Mikhail shoved him toward the door, and Bullet stormed out, slamming it shut behind him.

No one said a word after that. Not a word. They didn't know where to begin.

Fin gave Dimitri a worried glance before climbing the ladder to the top of their bunk. Peter went to bed, too, turning his back on the room, and Yuri shrugged, and followed the others' lead. Limey wordlessly gathered Bullet's belongings and carried them outside, leaving them on the grass.

Dimitri looked to Mikhail, who was standing in exactly the same spot he'd been since the standoff. His back was to everyone else.

"Mikhail...." Dimitri tried, quietly.

Mikhail turned. "No. No. Just..." He struggled to find an order to give, but there just wasn't one. Not this time. He gave up on speaking and headed for his own bunk. Halfway there, though, he turned around, and reached into a trunk in the corner. He tossed Dimitri a bandage. "Take care of that," he said, and climbed his ladder.

Dimitri sighed. The curfew wasn't for another half-hour, but he sat on his bunk anyway, rolled up his sleeve, and wrapped the gauze around his shoulder. The result wasn't perfect---the bandage was about as stubborn as _he_ was---but, like the current silence, it would do until morning.


	9. Are You There?

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**In this chapter, we go back and forth between the war (briefly) and back home in Paris. For the war part, you'll need to recall what Mikhail said in his first chapter: "You're not truly one of us till your blood's on the field and your liquor's on the table." In the home part, remember that his letters would have to be sent through Vlad, and not through Anya, because obviously she can't have her name and address paraded around in a war. Read it!**

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_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

Anya had been at that desk for an hour. The hands on the clock reached for entirely new numbers, and yet still the sheet of paper lay blank; still her pencil rapped against the wood.

_Tap._

_Tap._

It wasn't that she had nothing to say. She had plenty. It was that she didn't know how or where to start.

_Tap._

_Come on,_ she thought to herself. _You have to do this. They're collecting tomorrow, and then the mail barge ships out and you won't have another chance. So just do it. You know, like NOW. Nnn...ow. Now. Write. Go._

She took a deep breath, and set the tip of the pencil on the paper. More importantly, she stopped thinking.

_Dimitri;_

_I don't even know how to begin this letter. I feel like I should be talking to you in person, instead of writing this down, and I want to, more than you probably know. I miss you. Every five seconds I keep wondering if you're all right, or if you're hurt, or worse.... I don't know how much longer I can take this. And that little girl...I see you in her. You can argue with me all you want on that, but I do. She misses her daddy. I know she loves us both, but come on---we both know she's always been yours. More of a daddy's girl than even me. She's learned a couple new words---it's so cute---and she's been riding her bike, asking for you after she falls, of course. She's got a bunch of these finger paintings she's determined to give you the second you get back, so just nod and smile as if you know what they are. (Your guess is as good as mine.) We're both doing the best we can. I love you so, so much, Dimitri. It's like another life, not having you here every day. All I want is to have you home with us. Our daughter needs you, and I need you. I talk to Vlad every day, and he's worried about you, too. He meant what he said, you know---all though enjoy it, 'cause it's not likely he'll admit it again. I'm not saying---writing---any of this to worry you about us, I just wanted you to know how important you are to all of us back here. You remember the night in the garden, right, at the beginning of everything? When you handed me that crown? (Of course you do.) I chose you for a reason. I love you, Dimitri. I can't say that enough right now---I just want to say it to your face. And as much as I worry, I'm so proud of you. I know, I know, "don't worry," you're saying. I can't help it. But I know you're out there keeping your promise. So come back safe to us. That, mister, is a royal command._

_Anya_

Without giving herself a chance to second-guess those words, or to admit their truth, Anya stuffed the letter into an envelope, the envelope into her coat, and her arms into the sleeves. "Come on, Tasha!" she called. "Time to go for a visit!"

Within ten minutes, Vlad heard a rapid knock on his front door. He wasn't surprised at all by the young woman on the other side, nor the child she carried.

"Gappa Vlad!" the child exclaimed.

"Tasha! Anastasia, come in, come in." Vlad ushered the girls into the house and shut the door behind them. "I trust you've been well since....well, yesterday?"

"We're all right." Vlad sat in his favorite overstuffed chair, and Tasha climbed up on his lap. Anya paused for a long, long moment. "Have you heard anything, Vlad?" she finally asked, quietly.

Vlad, too, was somber. "No, my child. I wish I could tell you that I had."

In the silence that followed in that room, they both knew exactly who the other was thinking of.

"Well," Vlad said suddenly. He took in a deep breath, exhaled sharply, and looked little Tasha straight in the eye. "How would you like to hear another story, hm?"

"Yeah yeah yeah!" Tasha squealed, clapping her little hands together. Anya sat cross-legged on the carpet, and settled in. Never, especially now, could she be too old for Vlad's stories.

"A long time ago," he began, "back when your papa was just a little older than you---and he was a rascal, mind you---we were in the heart of St. Petersburg. It was the dead of winter, and there was....

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Mikhail returned from dinner the following night before any of the others had even finished. It was his pencheant to do everything ahead of the curve.

Strangely enough, he noticed the silhouette of an unfamiliar object on the table. Mikhail flipped on the light, and stepped closer.

It was a bottle---a bottle of genuine Russian vodka to be exact. As he picked it up to examine it, he saw the note that had been fastened to the side.

_Hope the cheap kind's okay. Dimitri._

Mikhail smiled. His troop hadn't lost a man at all.

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"All right, all right already! I'll get it!"

Anya went to her front door and pulled it back, giving way to Lydia and Rosaline, who tangled her up in a mass group hug.

"How _are_ you? We haven't talked in _ages_," Lydia gushed.

Anya laughed. "You came over last week."

"To me, that's ages."

"So," Rosaline said, "how have you been? You know. Considering everything."

Anya sighed, heading into the sitting room with Rosaline and Lydia following. "I've been...worse. And better."

"Uh-oh." Lydia turned to Rosaline with a concerned, mishevious look. "Time to play distract-a-duchess."

Rosaline laughed her delicate laugh, and played along. "Anastasia, I'm engaged."

"I'm pregnant," Lydia added.

"Me too."

"With triplets."

"I'm queen of a foreign country."

"I'm joining the Cub Scouts."

"I---_Cub_ Scouts? _That's_ the best you could think of?"

All three girls fell into a fit of hysterical laughter. At that moment, Sophie bustled in from the kitchen. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Soph," Lydia breezed, plucking a tart from the tray of desserts Sophie held. Each of them occupied a seat, or, for Anya and Lydia, a spot on the floor.

"Is Tasha asleep?" Rosaline asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I brought her something," Rosaline said, pulling a small knit teddy bear from her bag. "I've been taking lessons from Marie. Just give it to her when she wakes up."

"It's so cute! Thank you. She'll love it." Rosaline loved kids, and was always doting on Tasha.

"Oh! That reminds me." Sophie reached behind her and yanked a pile of newsprint from the end table. "I brought in your paper when I came in."

Anya grabbed it, and leafed through the numbers and headlines.

"Anastasia. Don't worry yourself like this," Rosaline laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, knowing exactly which section she was headed to.

"I have to. It's the only way I'd know." Finally, she opened up the right page. Casualties of war.

Her eyes flitted over the fresh column of names. She grew more and more relieved as she finished a quarter, half, then three quarters of the column, all without seeing his name.

"See?" Lydia said. "What did we tell you? Everything's fine."

And everything _was_ fine. Until Anya came to the second-to-last name on the page.

She froze. It was nothing but a first name and an age, but unfortunately, they were the exact ones she didn't want to see.

Sophie sat forward. "Anastasia?"

"Anastasia?" Rosaline echoed.

Lydia took the paper from Anya's motionless hands. She found the spot. "Oh, oh no."

Anya couldn't think. She didn't know if she was breathing or not. The sound of someone in tears seemed to be coming from somebody else. Not even the three pairs of arms around her seemed real.

When it hit her, only one thought appeared in her mind.

_He promised._

She stood up and left the room, not stopping until she was sitting in a heap at the foot of the hall window. _He promised, he promised, he promised._

After what may have only been a few minutes, Sophie appeared at the end of the hall. "Anastasia?" she beagn timidly.

Anya didn't answer. She couldn't.

"Anastasia...there were details on the next page. Apparently the man on the list was Dimitri Ivanovich Rodogev, from Odessa. It wasn't him."

Anya still didn't speak, but her eyes widened and the darkness lifted. She sprang up and hugged Sophie with everything she had.

"Oh, my."

"_Thank_ you, Sophie."

"All I did was turn the page..." she mused, somewhat baffled.

Anya headed back to the sitting room with a smile on her face. _Don't scare me like that,_ she thought. _I still trust you_.

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**So there's that one. Reviews are much appreciated!!! (Also, I should fill you in on Lydia and Rosaline. They're recurring characters I made up; you'll see them throughout my Anastasia work. Lydia is one year younger than Anya, and is one of her cousins. She is bold, and always has something to say. Lydia is never shy. Rosaline, on the other hand, is the polite, quiet, refined one. She is one year older than Anya. She is level-headed, and is also French---I kind of modeled her after Marion Cotillard. They are good friends, and a typical crowd is usually Anya, Marie, Sophie, and them. So, that's basically thier background info.) So, in this chapter, we saw some of the family life and some of the difficulties back in Paris. Next chapter, back to war! R & R & dasvidaniya: I'm getting back to work. :-)**


	10. What I Wouldn't Give

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**Here, we've got some downtime, a little Fun-With-Fin, and the sudden setup to the Battle Royale. (No really _really_ bad pun intended.) Just read it. Special thanks to britney268. (Oh, and after you read this, look up the plot of the 1938 version---or _any_ version, for that matter---of Pygmalion. You'll get why I mentioned it. :-)**

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"Hey. You coming?"

Yuri, the last one to leave, stopped at Dimitri's bunk before he joined the others for the movie, which was a Saturday privelege for those at the base.

Dimitri sat up, groggy from the simple act of doing nothing all morning. "What're they showing again?"

"Pygmalion, I think."

"Nah," Dimitri said, laying back down. It seemed like he'd seen that somewhere before. "I'll pass."

"Suit yourself," Yuri left, shutting the door behind him.

Rarely was there an opportunity to relax around here, and Dimitri was contented just to take it. He pulled the blanket over his head to shut out the sunlight, and enjoyed the total silence for once. _I'll just lay here_, he thought. _I'll just lay here until the movie is over and my service is up and the war is over and Mikhail goes home and Fin learns how to tie his shoes_....

Yet not twelve seconds later, there came a heavy knock on the door. His eyes sprang open.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

A voice raised on the other side of the door. "Anyone in?"

Dimitri hesitated to answer.

"Mail for the Twenty-First!"

Well, that was a horse of a different color. Dimitri couldn't get up fast enough. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here! Don't leave! I'm---" His ankle got caught in the blanket, and he tripped a few feet while managing not to hit the floor. "---coming! Just gimme a---" He pulled the door open, and accepted the stack of envelopes the attendant handed him before moving to the next barrack. "Second," he finished.

Dimitri shuffled through the stack of letters, tossing envelopes behind him, looking for an address he would recognize. This was the only mail stop scheduled during his enlistment, and he knew beyond all doubt that he'd find what he was looking for.

_Last one in the stack. Go figure._

He tore the seal open and sat on the edge of his bunk, hanging on every word of the two handwritten pages.

He made one vital mistake, though. He didn't shut the door.

Dimitri was about halfway down the second page when a hand came from seemingly nowhere, snatching the letter from him. "What's this then?"

Dimitri stood up and grabbed for it, but Fin held it just out of his reach.

"I'ts a letter," Dimitri said, "One that I would like back in the next two seconds." He tried to grab it again, but Fin turned away.

"'Dimitri,'" Fin read. "What, no 'dear?'"

"The letter..._now_..."

Fin held it above his head, and Dimitri, even though he wasn't any shorter, had to jump for it. "Who's it from?"

"My _wife_, not that it's any business of yours..."

"'I don't even know how I should begin this letter.' Then why write one at all? Little indecisive, isn't she?"

"You want a sock in the nose?" The whole keep-away thing was getting old.

"'Little girl'...'misses her daddy'...aw, how precious," Fin mocked.

"Can you stop _reading my property _now?"

Fin held the pages behind him and made a childlike 'pouting' face. "But it's riveting, daddy."

"Letter! Now!"

"Fine, fine." Fin handed it over, and Dimitri put it back into the envelope, hiding it in his suitcase under the bed. _That was a little too close._

"So," Fin asked, "is it a boy or a girl?"

"That would be my _daughter_. Your attention span's _microscopic_, isn't it?"

"She sounded cute, if that's any consolation." Fin flopped onto Peter's bunk across from him.

"Why are _you_ back so early, anyway?"

"I cut out. Personally, I find films a little dull. I can't sit still that long! All though trust me, that Ms. Hiller would've been worth it. Hey, look who joined the club!"

Dimitri turned to see who Fin was talking about. Peter, Mikhail, Limey and Yuri walked into the room.

"Let me guess---all of you lost focus at the exact same time."

"Nah," Mikhail clarified. "Projector broke."

"And, uh, I'm guessing that's a good thing," Yuri said nervously.

"Why?"

"See for yourself," he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

Mikhail turned around, and instantly stood at attention, because a higher officer was within feet of them, and he didn't look happy.

"General Solodov. At ease." The commendant barked. "There's been a breach of our inner border. We're being invaded by German troops a thousand strong. Get you and your men out there, now. We're sending every soldier we've got."

No one could find anything to say. The commendant was white---actually white---in the face. "This," he said, swallowing hard, "is the big one, General. God be with us all."


	11. Going Gets Tough

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**Be prepared for the big one. That's all I'm gonna say, except that we learn something very humanizing about Fin. Be prepared. :-)**

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There wasn't time for the men to gather their thoughts; to say anything, or to prepare, not in any way.

There wasn't time.

As the Twenty-First sprinted for the chaos of the battle, Mikhail shouted what directions he could over the deafening noise. "This is going to take everything we've got. Yuri, you stay with me; Fin, cover Dimitri, Peter and Limey, take the rear. I want to see _every one of you_ on the other side of this!"

With that, the Twenty-First merged into the haze. Dimitri changed his direction and matched his pace with Fin's.

"So," Fin choked, filling the last empty minute before combat. "You've got a daughter?" He sounded hollow, as if he were a child who'd been let down by adulthood.

Dimitri surveyed the awful commotion all around them. "Yeah," he gulped. "I do."

"How old is she?"

"She's three," he answered, and was unable to picture anything else.

After an unresponsive beat, Fin spoke again. "Two."

"Huh?" Dimitri whipped his head around, confused. _Call me crazy, but was that an age?_

"I've got a son," Fin replied, and he looked and sounded as though he'd only just realized it himself.

The two of them were in the thick of the fight now, and DImitri readied himself---for _what_, he didn't want to know. "Well," he said. "Then we better get this right, huh?"

Fin nodded, and, with shaking hands, clicked off the safety on his rifle.

Lights and smoke and noises no man should have to hear filled the open field. After a few minutes of defending the border and avoiding enemy fire, Fin and DImitri caught sight of Peter and Limey from the corner of their eye. The other two ran over, ducking shrapnel from a grenade.

"Hey!" Peter reloaded his weapon. "Much luck?"

"We're _alive_---I'd say that's bloody lucky," Limey pointed out.

Fin was still nervous. "I'm gonna have to second that."

"Anyone seen Yuri and Mikhail?"

As if on cue, the last two members of the Twenty-First emerged from a dust cloud a few yards away. They didn't notice the others, and Yuri got off a few precise shots as Mikhail expertly covered him.

"Looks like they're doing all right."

And they were, too, until there came a moment in which the entire regiment was dealt, almost in slow-motion, a debilitating blow. The sound of exactly two shots stood out from all the rest, and right before their disbelieving eyes, Mikhail twisted and fell where he stood.

"_Mikhail!_"

Yuri heard Dimitri's voice over the commotion, and turned around. Shocked by what he now saw was true, he stood there in danger a few seconds longer before running to join the others, none of whom had spoken.

"I..." he gasped. "I was right there, I didn't...."

"It wasn't your fault," Dimitri broke in. He looked around at the drained faces of his comerades. They didn't know what to do, where to begin; not now that the impossible had happened. They needed a leader.

Dimitri hadn't known he would be it until his mouth made the decision for him. "All right---Peter, Fin, you get him out of here," he commanded, pointing to where Mikhail had fallen. He began barking a series of rapid orders the way he'd seen Mikhail do a thousand times, and the real surprise was, it came naturally. "Get him to the med tent at the base; he'll make it if we let him. Limey; reload, and keep on Fin and Peter---anyone gets in their way, take 'em down. Yuri, I need you to live up to your reputation right now, do you hear me? Straightest shot in the company. Stay on me. If nothing else, keep the general's orders---all of you! Let's give 'em what they came for! Go!"

Instantly, instinctively, the men followed Dimitri's words to the letter, with a renewed sense of purpose, if not vengeance. As for Dimitri, he ran for the center of a line of Allied soldiers facing off against a line of Germans, Yuri matching him stride for stride. He kept Yuri's path clear while he charged a group of stormtroopers, picking them off one by one, breaking his own records five times over.

"Look out!"

Every Allied soldier within a ten-foot radius dropped on Dimitri's command, avoiding the impact of another grenade.

When the flak cleared, a general from another regiment made his way over to him. Dimitri gave a quick salute, and was surprised when the general returned the gesture with a "Sir."

"Oh, no, uh, I'm not---"

"Look! We've got 'em on the run!" The general pointed enthusiastically to a spot at the edge of the field, where a tattered white flag was waving over the heads of the retreating German commendants.

A proud relief flooded through him. "Twenty-First!" he shouted, smiling. All four of the others appeared from out of the smoke. "Stand down!"

Each of the men noticed the flag in the distance for the first time. They threw their weapons to the ground and tossed their caps in the air, laughing for joy.

"Did you _see_ 'em?"

"Bloody incredible!"

"A _thousand_!"

And yet, as quickly as the celebration began, it faded out. The men looked at each other, and, without a word, headed for the base, Dimitri in the lead. They had some unfinished business to attend to.


	12. Come Again, Comerade?

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**A bit of a cliffhanger back there, huh? This one's about three days later. Several important/ironic things are revealed. :-) :-) :-) Reviews much loved.**

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Dimitri took his time packing his suitcase. It wasn't like he had much of anything to pack, so he drew it out as best he could. He got more time to think that way.

_Two months. Eight weeks. Fifty-six days_, he calculated, looking around at the empty bunks and cluttered shelves. The company, he would miss---at least a _little_---but the actually _being_ here? Not so much.

With a sense of finality, he snapped the suitcase shut. Drawn out or not, it was a chore of three minutes.

Before he could make his way out the door, another figure, from outside, slowly beat him to it.

"You didn't think you'd get off _that_ easy, _did_ you?"

Dimitri took a good look at Mikhail---a crutch under one arm and a sling around the other---and grinned. "I don't know; I heard something from a guy once about this place being a nut house."

"Well, the best places often are." Mikhail looked right at him after that without saying a word, and Dimitri knew exactly what it was he wanted to say.

Instead, slowly, and with the slightest smile on his face, Mikhail raised the arm on the crutch, and touched his first two fingers to his forehead in a perfect salute.

Dimitri did the same. "I'll see you around, Mikhail."

"I don't doubt it. Once August comes." Mikhail turned to go, but, before he did, he looked back over his shoulder, a mischevious twinkle in his eye. "And general---say hi to the Dowager Empress for me. It's been years."

With that, Mikhail was gone---and Dimitri was confused into total silence. As instructed, he headed for the main office across the field on his way out.

_Was that just a Paris comment, or did he know? No, of course he knows. How long has he known? How'd he find out? Did anyone else find out? And what was with the 'general' thing?_

One, two, then three knocks on the heavy door before he heard a "Come in" in reply. He did that, and was then surprised by the vaguely familiar man sitting behind the desk.

"Admiral Collins," he saluted.

The admiral stood, and got right down to business. "I heard of your actions on the field, comerade. Well done. You seem to have served your term beyond expectations."

_Insult or compliment?_ Dimitri wondered. He decided to take it as a compliment. "Thank you sir."

"Don't thank _me_; I had nothing to do with it. In fact," Collins said, retrieving a small box from a drawer, "your supervising general has put you up for quite an honor."

The admiral opened the box and extracted a blue ribbon, at the end of which hung an intricate gold medallion. He went about fastening it to the lapel of Dimitri's uniform.

"The Medal of Honor, to be exact."

If Dimitri had considered himself shocked _before_, he was totally floored now. "Thank you, sir." Still, there was one thing---two, actually---that still bugged him. "Uh, admiral...when I was leaving just now, Mik---General Solodov said something that I wanted to ask you about...."

"Oh! That reminds me." Collins offered his hand. "Congratulations."

Dimitri shook it, unsure as to _why_. "Forrrr...." He desperatley wished _someone_ would tell him what was going on. _Drag me along, here! _

"For your regimentary promotion to general."

Dimitri was still surprised, but in a "that-explains-it" kind of way. "Really?"

"Really."

"Thank y---"

"Ah ah ah! What did I say?"

"Right." Now there was only one thing left that he had to know. "He, uh, he mentioned the Dowager Empress...."

"Oh, don't worry about that, not a bit," Collins assured. "Now that you are no longer enlisted, identity is not a cause for concern. General Solodov inquired this morning, so I gave him the truth. Cat's out of the bag." The admiral sat back down and propped his feet up on the desk. "You see, General Solodov served on the side of the imperialists just before that ugly revolution. He fought practically side-by-side with the Tsars---it's no wonder he recognized what he did in you."

Suddenly everything was clear. All that stuff about service, and St. Petersburg.... It all fit.

At that moment, there was another loud knock on the office door from outside. "Admiral? Permission to enter?" A muffled. Fin-like voice called.

"Granted."

When the door opened, not just one, but four figures filed in. "Giving us the slip without so much as a 'dasvidaniya?'" Fin teased.

"Yes," Dimitri laughed, "that's exactly it. You caught me."

"Mikhial told us you were headed this way," Peter explained.

"None of you shipping home yet?" Dimitri asked.

"Nope. Not yet at least." Yuri gestured to Fin. "He's going back to the docks to meet his family, but he comes back on Tuesday. We've all got some fight left in us yet."

Admiral Collins stood up again and cut in on the conversation. "Sorry to chat and run, men, but I've got a conference in twenty." He turned to Dimitri, said "Congratulations, son. The Dowager will be proud," and left.

The instant they heard that, the Twenty First were on him like wildfire. "Dowager?" Yuri gaped. "How do you know the Dowager?"

_Cat's out of the bag now, I guess._ "Actually, I married the Grand Duchess." It felt overwhelmingly good not to hide that anymore.

"_What?_ Nope---you're pulling our leg," Limey declared. "Aren't you?"

"Not a bit."

"So, this whole time?"

"This whole time." Dimitri picked his suitcase back up. "I'll see you guys."

"But---hang on now, what's it like?"

"Are you rich, then?"

"You live in a palace?"

"Come on!"

"Look," Dimitri grinned, enjoying the feverish curiosity. He backpedaled toward the open door. "As much as I would like to stick around with you saps and play twenty questions, I've got somewhere important to be. So thank you, drop me a line, look me up, see you around, but I'm getting out of here!"

It was the guys' turn to be shocked, and all four of them could do nothing but laugh.

Looking up into the vast expanse of blue, head held high, Dimitri walked down to the loading ship that waited to take him home.


	13. Life Is A Road, Love Is A River

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**The conclusion. This one's divided into different POV's and times, all during the same day. During the part where they meet again, I had the song, "If God Made You" by Five For Fighting in my head. You should definitely look it up/listen to it if you like this. It just...fits. Perfectly. Also, I had two titles in mind for this chapter. Before I decided on this one, the other possibility was "I Know Someone's Waiting," which is the next line after the title of the story in "Journey to the Past." (**_**Somewhere down this road, I know someone's waiting...**_**) Clever, I thought. Anyway. Enjoy this last chapter, and PLEASE drop me a review, tell me what you liked!**

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She wandered breathlessly through the crowd, alone, her red ponytail fluttering in the wind. It seemed every two seconds another lucky girl who wasn't her paired off with another returning soldier who wasn't him. She gotten the letter, and she knew she'd gotten the right place, so where was he?

"Excuse me. Hi; sorry. Excuse me." Anya pushed past another happy, reunited family, and her stomach practically turned. _Come on, where are you?_

_._

_._

"Excuse me. Excu---hey, _watch_ it pal. _Move_ it."

Dimitri finally managed to make it off of the gangplank and onto solid shore, surrounded by a sea of identically uniformed men and the women and children that flocked them. The mass of people extended all the way up to the road, making spotting one person that much harder, but it didn't matter to him. He'd known her since he was nine; he'd know her anywhere, and he'd find her now, he resolved, and made his way into the horde.

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Anya stretched up on her toes as tall as she could and scanned as far as the eye could see. Just because she hadn't found him yet didn't mean she was going to lose hope; not again, not now, and not ever.

While she waited for him to appear, her eyes settled on a young-ish looking guy about a ship's length off---he was so far away she could barely even see his face. He did look familiar, though....

_Oh, my God..._

Walking faster now, she headed in his direction, confirming her thoughts as she got closer. _It's him! He's here! He's back!_ She broke into a run, and the swarm around her seemed almost to clear a path.

"Dimitri!"

He saw her before she even opened her mouth. His forgotten suitcase dropped to the ground as he ran for her, and he didn't even notice.

Elated, she ran into his arms, and he lifted her from the ground and swirled her around in midair---even if her feet had been touching the earth, she wouldn't have felt like it. Finally, looking down at him like that, she did what she'd been longing to do for eight weeks; what, once, she thought she might never get to do again. She kissed him, perfectly, and never before or since has there been one to match it.

After the longest and best moment in the world, he set her down. "Anya..." To his surprise, he found he really hadn't had anything else to say.

She just laughed, and leaned in to kiss him again. She put her hand to his chest, but then pulled back, and looked up at him, curious. Her fingers traced against the medallion he wore. "What's this?" she asked, but a grin began to cover her face again, and her eyes seemed to already know the answer.

"Let's just say, I'm sorry," he said with a smile.

She laughed again. "Why?"

Dimitri recalled something she'd said when he left; something about not being the hero. "I got this," he told her, "by doing exactly what you told me not to."

"This is the Medal of Honor," she stated, awaiting confirmation.

"Yep."

"They gave you the Medal of Honor."

"Yep."

"They gave _you_ the _Medal of Honor?_"

"What?" Dimitri laughed. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

Anya didn't answer him. Instead she pretended to look around the docks, struggling to keep a straight face. "I'm sorry, sir---"

"General," he corrected. He waited for her to catch it as she continued.

"---I was looking for my husband, must have gotten confused..." She stopped mid-sentence and did a double-take. Dimitri made a mental note to get a new camera. "What did you just say?"

"They promoted me to general."

"You're...they made you a general?"

"Apparently."

This time Anya left all jokes aside, and the look in her eyes was definitely worth a thousand words. "I am so proud of you, Dimitri. I am."

He held her for a moment, the two of them oblivious to the rest of the world. Out of the corner of his eye, though, a few seconds later, Dimitri noticed Fin, a few yards away, tossing a little boy into the air, and smiled. Finally, with his arm around Anya's shoulders, they walked, together, for the road.

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It was late---black outside, in fact---by the time they arrived home. Vlad had been with Tasha, so Dimitri and Anya had taken the extremely long way home, wandering around town, talking about absolutley everything that had happened over the last two months. Everything, that is, but the scare involving the newspaper---Anya saw no need to bring it up. By the time they got back, they knew of each other's ordeals as if he'd never left. Anya thought it would be nice to meet this Mikhail one day.

Dimitri opened door to his house, and a sense of familiarity came over him: after all the places he'd ever been, this one really was his home. He found it comforting that not one thing about it had changed. Not that Anya would have changed it, either.

He heard the pattering of little feet on the floor, and assumed Tasha had woken up until a small paw landed on his shoe. _Stupid dog,_ he thought, not meaning it. _I'll never be able to get rid of you, will I?_ He bent down and gave Pooka a fond scratch behind the ear. He'd only admit it reluctantly, but it had definitely gotten harder to stay enemies with the mutt.

Anya came in right behind him and shut the door. "Go on up," she whispered, for Vlad was asleep in the armchair.

"Are you sure about that?" Normally, waking Tasha was about the same as waking _him_.

Anya nodded. "She'll want to see you."

Dimitri took the stairs as quickly as he could without making noise. Anya, a little slower, was right behind him.

When he reached the door, Dimitri slowed down, and gently pushed it open. Walking across the lavender carpet, he carefully sat on the edge of the small bed, and brushed the sleeping girl's hair out of her face. Anya watched, leaning against the door frame, with a smile on her face that nothing could ever remove.

"Tasha," Dimitri whispered. "Tasha."

The three-year old's fair eyelashes parted just the slightest bit, as both sleep and the waking hours tried to claim her. Disoriented, her small, groggy voice tired to confirm what her mind told her was there, whether as reality or a dream.

"Daddy?"

Her eyes adjusted in time to see her father nod. The little girl's face lit up like Christmas, and she sprang forward, throwing her small arms around him. "Daddy!"

Dimitri shut his eyes and held on to his girl---_one_ of them---as tight as he could. "I'm home," he assured, glad beyond description to say those words.

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As Anya walked through the room, getting ready for bed, she noticed Dimitri rubbing his shoulder when he thought she wasn't looking. She stopped in her tracks.

"What's wrong?"

He looked up, letting his arm drop back at his side. "Nothing."

"Yes, there is."

"It's really nothing."

"Dimitri." Anya went over and sat next to him. "Tell me. Are you hurt?"

"No! Well, I mean, not _now_; I mean there _was_ a...." he stammered. He noticed the look she was giving him, sighed, and gave up. He pulled his shirt collar to the side, revealing the military-grade bandage on his shoulder.

"Oh my God! When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not a big deal, I swear."

"'Not a big deal,'" she mocked, going and getting a new bandage from a drawer. "Three inches' difference and it's a fatal wound, but to you it's 'not a big deal.' Men are---"

"Babies?" he finished.

Anya looked up. "I was gonna say _difficult_, but sure, fill in what you want there."

He laughed. "You wanted me to walk into that one, didn't you?"

She sat back down, taking a cool washcloth to his shoulder. "Maybe," she teased.

"That was a setup, you admit it. You do realize I have to get my dignity back now, right?"

"Don't worry. You've got time."

Dimitri just watched her, transfixed, as she went about tending to his injury, realizing that she was the only person in the world who could drive him crazy and make his life worthwhile at the same time. He was proud to be with her, always, but now more than ever.

Sure, he figured, maybe Grand Duchesses _didn't_ marry kitchen boys. _Soldiers_, however.... Well, _that_ was a completely different story.

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**So, that's the piece! Hope you liked it as much as I liked creating it. Oh, also, as a side-note, I kind of had sort of a soundtrack for this in my mind while I was working on it. If you liked it, there are a few songs that go with it that you might wanna look up. First of all, I consider "L-O-V-E" by Irving the unofficial Dimitri theme song---it just reminds me of him, but substitute the line "Bo Tuesday" for "Anastasia." Then, I had kind of a snare-drum version of the finale playing in my head---that one doesn't exist, you'll just have to picture it. And there was "If God Made You" that I mentioned before, and "My Darling" by Wilco for when he sees Tasha again. Plus, I thought of "Learning To Fly" by Tom Petty as sort of the theme for the war thing in general, and for when he leaves her at the dock, there was "Age Of Consent" by Grant-Lee Phillips fading into "Send Me On My Way" by Rusted Root. Just a thought. :D Check 'em out, and let me know what you think of 'em/the story! **

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